


Sugarcoated

by AuditoryCheesecake



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5500 words of PWP, Adoribull - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Bottom Bull, Bull Wears Pretty Panties Fight Me, Convenient Orlesian Sex Resteraunt, Dirty Talk, Hot Cocoa and Guimauves, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Panty Kink, The Iron Bull's Consistent Dragon Boner, Unaddressed Feelings TM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: Dorian likes the Iron Bull, the Iron Bull likes sweet things. Orlais thinks chocolate is a potent aphrodisiac, Dorian thinks he has a foolproof plan and complete control of the situation.





	

They’re in Val Royeaux, the Inquisitor poring over a series of armour schematics in the back of a marvelous bookstore. They leave again for Skyhold in two days, are left to their own devices in the city. It’s practically a holiday, though the group hasn’t gone their separate ways just yet.

“Bull,” Dorian says, affecting nonchalance. “Madame de Fer mentioned a restaurant nearby that caters to Northern tastes, and I’m rather eager to investigate. Would you care to join me? Last time Sera tried anything Vintish she acted like her tongue was burning off.”

The Iron Bull looks up from the book of poetry he’s examining. His raised eyebrow is not surprising. This is a far friendlier overture than the Bull must have expected. No one’s listening to them, but Bull glaces about anyways. “Alright.”

Dorian smiles.

They set out from the inn not long before sunset. Dorian leads the way, the Iron Bull follows curiously, a step behind him.

“You’ve got some sort of plan, ‘Vint?” Bull asks curiously. “Trying to get me alone?”

“Clearly.” Dorian consults the directions Vivienne had written for him, and turns optimistically to the north. “I’m setting you up for an ambush in a city I’ve never been to, with the help of all my illicit contacts and Orlesian spies.”

The Iron Bull grunts. “You’d be a terrible spy.”

“You can go back to the inn if you’re just going to insult me.” Dorian examines a street sign and frowns slightly. “I invited you out of courtesy.” 

“Because you’re just the picture of courteous.”

“I beg your pardon, I am a delight.” He leads the Iron Bull down a flight of stairs.

The Iron Bull makes a sound-- he might be laughing? “You’re definitely something.” The pause afterward is too long.

Dorian turns left, then stops and squints at the rough map Vivienne had sketched for him. It really shouldn’t be this difficult to find a restaurant. He turns around when he’s determined he has, in fact, been taking them in the wrong direction for several turns. The Iron Bull is right there, looking at the map over his shoulder.

“Do you mind!” Dorian’s face to face-- or face to chest, really-- with the Tal Vashoth. Out of principle, he refuses to cede any ground.

“Are we lost again?” He sounds entirely unconcerned.

Dorian glares. “We’re taking the scenic route.”

The Iron Bull chuckles, and Dorian is very aware that he’s practically pressed up against the wall. He looks up at Bull’s face, which is closer than is strictly necessary, he thinks. Foolishly, he looks at Bull’s mouth, which curls wickedly. Dorian wrenches his gaze away.

“Alright, Vint.” Bull steps back, and Dorian’s heart can stop rushing any minute now, thank you. “Scenic route’s fine. I’m enjoying the view.”

Dorian steps confidently forward, painfully aware of their closeness in the twisting alleys of Val Royeaux. They encounter few people. How easy it would be to get lost, Dorian muses, to walk into a dead-end little alley, just the two of them, forget this dinner business--

But it only takes him about ten more minutes to find the discrete storefront. He pushes the door open and nearly coughs as a cloud of incense spills out of the restaurant. It smells like dawn lotus, sweet and a little cloying.

Thankfully, the braziers are close to the door, and once they step inside, the scent is light and pleasant. The interior smacks of the same manufactured “Northern” feel: silk drapes, low tables, secluded booths and an elven musician playing a decent rendition of a Tevinter folk song on an oud in the corner.

“Do we seat ourselves, or what?” Bull is close behind him, and Dorian imagines he’s scanning the room for exits and possible hostiles. His hand brushes against Dorian’s back.

Dorian ignores the other diners and steps up to the podium where the maitre’d waits, none too patiently. He hands over the card Vivienne had given to him, and the maitre’d examines it, simple mask betraying no emotion. He beckons Dorian and Bull into a small hallway and pushes aside a heavy tapestry on the wall. They exit onto a balcony set gracefully up against the waterfront, with a view north into the green hills that rise away from the banks on the other side of Val Royeaux’s encircling moat.

He ushers them forward to the table beside the railing. It’s taller than the tables indoors, with long chaise chairs arranged in a loose horseshoe shape. He leaves them with a silver bell, a filigreed kettle, and a wide variety of covered bowls and dishes. When he’s gone, they’re alone on the terrace.

Dorian sits and watches Bull investigate the balcony. He circles the balcony in a few short steps, glances over the edge to where the water laps against the stone, up at the windowless building around them, trailing with ivy and wisteria in bloom. He even checks for assassins under the trailing tablecloth. Dorian crosses his legs.

“You knew about this place.” Bull sits on the gilded chaise across from Dorian. “Private table must have cost you a pretty penny.”

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” Dorian holds up the kettle. “Pass me your teacup, if you please.”

Bull does, after running his finger around the inside of it, and examining it critically in the light from the wall sconces. After a moment, he licks it.

Dorian looks away. “For the Maker’s sake, I’m not trying to poison you.” He pours steaming milk into both of their cups under the Bull’s watchful eye.

Bull accepts his cup back carefully. The tips of his fingers brush Dorian’s. “You aren’t,” he agrees. “Plenty of other people might.”

“Madame de Fer knows exactly where we are, and if we turn up dead, this establishment’s days will be few and awful.”

“See, we still die in that scenario.” 

Dorian meets his eye and smiles. “It would be worth every drop, even so.”

With as small a flourish as he’s able, Dorian reveals the contents of the dishes. Four are heaped with varying grades of powdered chocolate, two with fine sugar, and the rest with cinnamon, nutmeg, guimauves and cream.

Bull sets down his teacup with a clatter, spilling some of the milk. “You’re shitting me.”

Dorian settles smugly in his seat. “Cocoa, from the jungles of Par Vollen, via Rivain, I believe. There isn’t anything close to the true original, I know. There’s some that isn’t hideously sweet--” the Iron Bull is already scooping overflowing spoonfuls of the lightest, sweetest powder into his teacup, stirring it vigorously.

He grins at Dorian with a sort of incongruous glee-- usually that particular smile is blood-spattered and sharp at the end of a battle. Cream, sugar, and the fluffy Orlesian guimauves follow the cocoa into his cup in the time it takes Dorian to measure and mix his own drink. He prefers the blend of sweet and bitter, seasoned with a touch of cinnamon.

“Come on Vint, live a little!” Bull’s last spoonful of guimauves shifts trajectory to hover above Dorian’s cup. “They’re good, I promise.”

Dorian covers his cup with a hand. “Perhaps in my next cup.”

Bull’s grin lifts the scars under his missing eye. “How long have you got this spot rented out?”

“A few hours. Certainly long enough for you to let me drink one cup in peace.” Dorian takes a long sip and closes his eyes, breathing in the steam.

When he opens them again, the Iron Bull is scrutinizing him, smile replaced by a suspicious frown. “Are you dying?”

“What?”

Bull spins his teacup and shrugs. “This isn’t usually-- I’m not saying this isn’t great-- but you’ve got to have an angle here. Are you trying to catch me off guard before you tell me you’re off to Tevinter to join the Venatori after all?”

“Perhaps I just want to share this with someone I’m sure will appreciate it,” Dorian says. “Perhaps this is an act of pure altruism.”

“Hmm.” The Iron Bull returns to his cocoa. Dorian watches his mouth. It’s right there, after all, and he’s smiling again. “Or you want some sort of favor.”

“Maker’s balls, Bull,” Dorian sighs. “Just drink your blighted cocoa.”

He does, with every appearance of pleasure. Dorian, pleased in an impurely altruistic way, drinks his own.

“Alright,” Bull says when he sets down his empty cup. “Maybe you’ll do me a favor.”

Dorian mirrors the action. “Maybe.”

“Try the sweet stuff.” Bull lifts the dish of lighter chocolate. “With the guimauves.”

Dorian wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Fine.” He drops in one spoonful of light powder, then reaches for the darker.

“That’s cheating,” Bull mutters. “Just let me do it.”

“Do I have to finish it?” Dorian asks as Bull pours in the milk and then _adds_ sugar. “I’m really not sure I can.”

“Just try it,” Bull wheedles.

Dorian watches in horror as Bull sips the concoction and adds still more chocolate. “I can’t believe you actually enjoy this.”

“I like sweet things.” Bull grins at him.

Dorian squints back at him suspiciously, but he can’t find the joke.

“Okay, try this.” Bull hands Dorian’s cup back across the table. What little he can see of the chocolate between the melting guimauves is terrifyingly light.

“Maybe I’m the one who needs to worry about being poisoned.” Dorian takes a sip. In a powerful act of self control, he doesn’t spit it back out.

Bull watches him, with an expression either hopeful or malicious.

“Sweet,” Dorian manages, and pours himself a glass of water.

“Good?” Bull asks. He’s enjoying this, the bastard.

Dorian pours more water. “I’ll never be able to get the taste out of my mouth. For the love of the Maker, take that cup away from me.”

Bull does. Looking extremely pleased by having acquired both teacups full of cocoa, he stretches his legs out under the table. His feet bracket Dorian’s. “Now you can ask me for a favor,” he says graciously.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dorian pours a third glass of water, just to prove a point. He doesn’t break eye contact with Bull while he drinks it.

“Do they have food here?” Bull asks, and rings the bell.

The waiter reappears, or at least a man of similar height with a similar mask appears. Bull, with the ease of someone who’s spent enough time around Orlesians to know what upsets them the most, orders “those little chocolate creme balls,” and “that roast duck thing with the brown sugar sauce, you know the one?”

The waiter bows sarcastically out, and Bull’s attention returns to Dorian full force.

“So, the favor. You want the Chargers to take someone out? Send a message to some Vint back home?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Hah!” Bull leans forward on the table. “So it is _something_.”

“Are you going to keep guessing, or are you going to drink more cocoa?”

Bull lifts the cup that had originally been Dorian’s. “No reason I can’t do both.”

Dorian examines one of the tiny silver spoons in the sugar bowl. “The longer you pester me, the less I want to do this again.”

“Again?”

“Depending on how you play your cards. Unless you think you can find this place on your own.” Dorian smooths his mustache, watching Bull’s eye track his fingers.

“I’ll bet I can get Ma’am to help.”

Dorian turns his spoon over, carefully unconcerned. “She’d _definitely_ want a favor in return.”

“What’d she want in return or getting you a reservation?”

“What makes you think I’d tell you?”

Bull refills Dorian’s teacup with milk and hands it back to him. “If this isn’t a pretty decent way to butter me up before asking for the secret to gaatlok powder or something, what is it?”

“You’re the one who was trained in espionage.” Dorian uses about half as much cocoa powder as Bull did. “You tell me.”

“Well.” Bull examines him. “It could be a seduction.”

“If I were trying to seduce you,” says Dorian cooly, “I’d have to be a lot more straightforward about it. _Apparently_.”

“Apparently.” Bull spoons cream into his cup, then licks the spoon, grinning. “How straightforward?”

Dorian smirks at him. “If I were trying to seduce you, I’d probably take you somewhere secluded, give you an expensive gift-- perhaps a delicacy known for being something of an aphrodisiac-- then slip under the table and suck your cock.”

“That would probably get your point across.” Bull leans back on the chaise, spreading his legs in the least subtle gesture Dorian’s seen all night. Including his own.

“Maybe,” he continues offhandedly, keenly aware of Bull’s attention, “if the place were particularly deserted, and if I’d planned ahead, I’d do more than that. I might pleasure myself to the feeling of your cock in my mouth, or your hand in my hair-- you shouldn’t be afraid to pull, in that case. Or maybe I’d finger you open, not too gently, enough that I’d have you gasping on my fingers, begging for me to fuck you. And I would, but only after you came down my throat, or across my face with my tongue in your ass.”

The waiter returns at that moment. Dorian thanks him politely and sips at his cocoa while Bull stares at him.

When the tapestry falls shut and they’re along again, Dorian runs the toe of one boot up the inside of Bull’s calf and smiles. “I think I’d like that. Kneeling on the tile with your legs on my shoulders, feeling you tremble against me, completely at my mercy. I understand what you say about dragons, you know. Something so powerful, helpless on the end of your sword…” That brings a sharp smile to Bull’s face, his eye dark and heated.

“I had sort of thought I’d be the one doing the conquering, when it came to it.” He doesn’t sound at all displeased.

“You’re certainly welcome to buy me dinner and try.” Dorian takes a sip of his almost-forgotten cocoa. “But tonight’s my treat.”

“Yeah, alright.” Bull shifts in his seat. “But, ah, does the hypothetical seduction end with us getting kicked out of the restaurant? Because that would be a bit of a mood killer. Also, there’s cocoa here.”

Dorian can’t help but laugh a little. “Bull, we’re on one of ten isolated, soundproof balconies at an invitation-only establishment that caters to exotic northern tastes, in the middle of _Orlais_. The waiter’s probably surprised that we ordered food at all.”

“Oh, right.” Bull’s smile is threatening to return. “And in the less hypothetical situation that you prepared for seduction and I… didn’t?”

“Of course, you’re under no obligation to take this farther than a hypothetical. For any reason or no reason at all.” He tries to indicate his sincerity by putting down his teacup. Bull meets his gaze levelly. Dorian realizes that the sun has begun to set, casting Bull’s face in a slight shadow that makes him look somehow softer than usual, lips curving upwards as he takes another sip of cocoa. Dorian follows the line of his throat as he swallows. “I believe there’s also a washroom behind that ficus.”

“Man, Orlesians think of everything.” Bull slides off his seat and stands, but hesitates before he goes. Instead, he moves closer to Dorian and leans down with one hand on the curling back of the chaise. The other lifts Dorian’s chin, thumb brushing over his lips. Bull kisses him, slow and thorough. He tastes like sugar and chocolate, and Dorian might understand the appeal now. He reaches up to touch the side of Bull’s face, and feels him smile.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed, the first time they’re done-- anything, really. Dorian is suddenly a little overwhelmed by how smoothly this has gone. He’d started scheming as soon as he realized they’d have time off in Val Royeaux, but it suddenly all becomes very real.

He levers himself up on the chaise, grasping the side of Bull’s arm for balance. The angle is actually sort of terrible, but Dorian presses up against him, following the lingering sweetness in his mouth and the softness of his lips. Bull’s hand slides to cup his jaw and then down his neck, holding him close. 

Dorian makes some sort of terribly embarrassing sound at the feeling of Bull’s fingers pressing lightly at the top of his throat. He’s _strong_ , and when he breaks the kiss and straightens, Dorian stays exactly where he is, half-kneeling on the seat, Bull’s hand around his neck.

“You had some chocolate on your--” Bull clears his throat. He takes his hand away, slowly. “Yeah. Uh, don’t go anywhere.”

Dorian nods. He can still feel his pulse pounding in his throat. He sinks back into his seat and watches Bull’s retreating back. This is-- this is the best idea he’s ever had.

While Bull’s gone, Dorian slips onto the middle chaise, his back to the railing, and puts both his and Bull’s cups in front of him. He replenishes both as well, and pours a glass of water for Bull. He runs a hand over his hair and mustache, wishing he had a mirror.

He’s lounging when Bull returns, and this feels a little smoother and easier than it had been for a moment there. Bull sits next to him, an arm around his shoulders, and pulls Dorian’s legs up over one of his thighs. He’s not exactly in Bull’s lap, but it’s easy to turn his face up for a soft kiss. They have plenty of time, after all.

“They have _mints_ in the washroom,” Bull tells him. “Why mints?”

“Some people-- many people, I would hazard-- are more self conscious about themselves than you are.” Dorian holds up one of the chocolate cremes. “Or perhaps not everyone likes feeling like their teeth are coated in sugar.”

Bull takes the chocolate into his mouth, tongue tracing the tips of Dorian’s fingers. “Their loss, I guess,”

“Indeed.” Dorian offers him another. This time, Bull holds his wrist, and sucks two of Dorian’s fingers between his lips. Dorian watches, cheeks warm. Bull sucks the sugar off his fingers, then kisses him again. Apparently, some sort of floodgates have been opened. Not that Dorian’s ever going to complain about being kissed.

Especially not when he’s kissed like this-- Bull pulls Dorian up, chest to chest, and presses their lips together like Dorian’s the one who tastes sweet. Bull’s hands roam up and down his back, and Dorian sighs against his mouth when they land just above his hips. Bull’s warm even in the cool air, and the torches that barely light the terrace make his face mysterious and beautiful.

Dorian can feel Bull’s heart pounding, quick as his own. He kisses Bull again.

He presses his hips lightly against Bull’s and the sound he gets out of him is electric. Bull’s head tips back and Dorian kisses the side of his neck, the top of his shoulder. He bites at the skin under his lips when Bull runs a hand through his hair, and Bull moans low and rough.

He holds Dorian close against him, and Dorian’s sure Bull can feel the pressure of his cock against his stomach. Bull thrusts up, and he’s hard too, rubbing his cock along Dorian’s through the fabric of their clothes. He pulls Dorian into a messy kiss, fumbling at his robes.

But Dorian’s less interested in coming in his pants like a teenager and more interested in sucking Bull’s cock. He controls himself, and sits up to pull at Bull’s belt buckle with both hands. The mechanism eludes and he sighs dramatically. “Be a dear and open this for me?”

Bull chuckles and unhooks it in a matter of moments. Dorian shimmies off his lap and sinks to the floor between Bull’s legs. He runs his hands over Bull’s thighs, the soft expanse of his stomach, and teases at the shape of his cock through the fabric before he undoes the drawstring at Bull’s waist.

Dorian had wondered what exactly Bull might wear under his awful trousers. He’d considered a number of possibilities, from Antivan bloomers to absolutely nothing, all with their own merits. For some reason, soft pink panties, carefully tailored and edged with lace, were not one of the things he’d expected to find.

He runs a finger up the length of Bull’s cock, mostly hard and really quite pretty, outlined like that. “I thought you weren’t expecting to be seduced?”

“Wasn’t,” Bull says, lifting his hips slightly as Dorian pulls his trousers below his knees. “It’s just what I like to wear.”

“Always?” Dorian leans forward, running his hand over the soft material, up over Bull’s hips. “Maker, that’s dangerous knowledge.”

“You’re not gonna blackmail a guy with what he puts on his ass, are you?”

“Dangerous for me,” Dorian elaborates. “I only have so much time to fantasize about what you might be wearing.”

Bull’s laughter turns into a moan when Dorian presses his lips against the fabric. He mouths at him through the fabric, at the wet spot already forming at the tip of Bull’s cock. He looks up through his eyelashes, and Bull’s staring down at him.

Right. He’s supposed to be the one doing the seducing. “As beautiful as you look in these, they’re impeding my goal somewhat.” Dorian rolls the fabric down, rubbing at the indents the seams leave on Bull’s skin. “Perhaps this is something we could revisit at a later date?”

“My silky drawers?” It’s not a no. Dorian lets himself hope.

He rubs the lace between his fingers, kisses the skin underneath. “Your silky drawers and the way you look in them.”

“Shit, you’re really into this, aren’t you?” Bull sounds a little breathless.

Dorian nods, trying to steady his own breathing. “Apparently. You look very... very _pretty_.”

Bull’s hand grazes his cheek, and Dorian leans into it, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. “That’s why I wear ‘em. Makes me feel good. And a little dirty, having a secret.” Dorian can hear him smiling. “You like knowing my secret, Vint?”

Dorian nods again. 

“I’ve got lots of these. The pink’s just my favorite. Gold, red, blue. I actually got these white ones a few weeks back, with little green bows. Same green as that new robe of yours. Want to know another secret?” 

As if he needs to ask.

His thumb rubs over Dorian’s cheekbone and pushes between his lips. It tastes like chocolate. “I did that on purpose. First time I wore ‘em, I thought about you fucking me. What d’you think about that, knowing that I’ve got lace and silk on when I’m killing dragons and drinking in the tavern and rubbing one out to the idea of your cock in my ass?”

Dorian stares up at him, throat dry with wanting. “You’re a menace,” he accuses.

“Says the man who’s kneeling under a table on a private balcony he rented out because he remembered me mentioning cocoa once or twice.” Bull strokes the side of Dorian’s face again. “Can’t blame a guy for making the most of a good thing.”

Dorian’s not sure what to say to that, so he continues his careful task of removing Bull’s undergarments. Bull’s hard under them, and shivers when Dorian’s breath hits him. His hand stays on Dorian’s head, but he doesn’t try to guide or prod him, he just sits back and watches.

Dorian knows how to put on a show. He dabs oil on his fingers, sweet-smelling and made for this purpose. (Orlesians can do some things right.) It smooths the way for the familiar push and pull, and Dorian twists his wrist just so as he looks up at Bull. He’s got his lower lip between his teeth, staring back at Dorian like he’s trying to see everything.

Dorian feels caught by his stare, like he might come undone if he looks too long. Bull smiles at him.

“I said you could pull my hair if you wanted,” Dorian reminds him, and drags his tongue from the base of Bull’s cock to the tip. He guides the head into his mouth, starting slow and careful, holding the shaft steady. Bull’s hand in his hair tightens, tugs just slightly.

He takes his time, enjoying the soft noises Bull makes, the way his leg shakes slightly under Dorian’s hand, the look in his eye whenever Dorian glances up. He moans as Dorian sucks harder and pushes himself lower, hand splayed across Bull’s stomach.

Dorian teases the head of Bull’s cock with his tongue and cups his balls lightly, stroking and pressing them as he slides up and down Bull’s shaft. He backs off long enough to tease his oiled fingers along his crease, then swallows as much of Bull’s cock as he can.

Bull’s hips slip forward on the seat and he sighs as Dorian circles his hole with his longest finger. “Ah, shit, you feel so good.” He strokes his hand through Dorian’s hair and smooths over his shoulders. He shudders as Dorian pushes in just slightly. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about this? Fuck, when you’re fighting, you’re like a wildfire.”

Dorian lets Bull’s cock slide from his mouth. “Hot?” he asks wickedly, and curls his tongue around Bull’s balls, sucking just enough to make him gasp.

“A force of fucking nature. But-- controlled. I’ve never seen your concentration break. You just look at something, and then it’s on _fire_.”

“Fire’s easy,” Dorian says modestly. “Remind me to show you the lightning sometime. I can do a decent Vinsomer impression.”

Bull’s grip tightens. Dorian’s not sure if it’s the dragon talk or the finger in his ass. “Gonna hold you to that,” Bull says, “later.”

Dorian urges his legs a little further apart, applies a bit more oil to his fingers, focuses on the task in front of him. “Have I really taken your mind off dragons?”

“Maybe not.” Bull chuckles breathlessly. “But I want-- fuck, could you just--”

Stroking the side of his hip gently, Dorian slides two fingers into Bull. He kisses his stomach as he quivers, fingers clenching on his shoulder. He moans loudly when Dorian twists them, and his voice pulls at the heat in the pit of Dorian’s stomach.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bull growls. “Fuck, I’d imagined--” His cock bobs against Dorian’s cheek when he looks up again. Holding his gaze, Dorian kisses the head of it and curls his fingers gently inside Bull. Bull’s horns knock against the railing as he tips his head back. His hand slips off of Dorian’s shoulder as he props himself up on his elbows, bearing down on Dorian’s fingers. “Oh shit. Right there, fuck. _Dorian_.”

Dorian presses against the spot, thrusting his fingers gently, controlling his speed carefully. He tongues at the sensitive skin above Bull’s hole, making him shudder and curse in Qunlat. He keeps his pace slow as he sucks a small bruise on the inside of Bull’s thigh, then pulls the head of Bull’s cock back into his mouth again.

“Come on Dorian, you can give me more than that.” Bull’s voice is rough and demanding. Dorian’s cock twitches at the sound, but he ignores it. “I’m not gonna break.”

Dorian sinks a little further down his cock, he likes the weight and fullness on his tongue, the sweet taste of the Orlesian oil. It’s easier to stay in control if he does this at his own pace.

“You brat,” Bull laughs. “Fuck me harder.”

Dorian does. He revels in it: Bull’s panting breath, the yielding warmth of his body, the way his hands clench when Dorian strokes that spot inside him that makes his back arch, the way he says Dorian’s name.

Dorian has three fingers inside him and is working on a matching bruise on his other leg when Bull groans low in his throat. Dorian looks up, wanting to see the moment of his release, wants to watch Bull come apart on his fingers.

Bull reaches out to stroke his cheek. “Come up here, won’t you?” he asks. 

Slowly, Dorian climbs back onto the chaise next to him. Bull pulls himself back into a sitting position, sighing as he moves.

“Back can’t last much longer like that,” he says. “And it’s my turn to touch you now. Hand me that oil?”

Dorian lets himself be moved until he’s straddling Bull’s thighs again. “I had rather planned on--”

“Me coming down your throat, desperate begging, yeah.” Bull opens Dorian’s robes and wraps a hand around his cock. Dorian shudders and leans on Bull’s shoulders for support. “I think we can work that all in next time.”

Dorian moans when Bull kisses him. He’s desperate to be touched, rocking into Bull’s hand.

“Next time can be tonight, we can stay here and you can fuck me against the wall, fuck me on the table, I don’t care. But right now--” Bull brushes a lock of Dorian’s hair out of the way, looking into his eyes. “Right now, I think you should stop holding back. Be controlled later. Give me what you think I want later.”

He pulls Dorian up against him, cocks rubbing together with exquisite friction. Dorian whines.

“There you are,” Bull murmurs, kissing Dorian’s shoulder. “There, beautiful.”

Dorian laughs a little wildly. “How did you guess?”

“You give a fucking good blowjob, don’t get me wrong. I can’t wait to feel your cock in my ass. But the way you looked at me when I was talking about my panties.” Bull grins, and Dorian can feel his cheeks heating again. The images he’d painted, the things he’d offered… “We can do this as many times as you want, Dorian, however you want it. My door’s always open. Really.”

Dorian closes his eyes against the understanding smile on Bull’s face, but he can still feel the curve of Bull’s lips when he sucks gently above Dorian’s collarbone. That tiny point of pressure has him moaning again, melting at the feeling of Bull’s teeth on his skin.

“You know what would really do it for me?” Bull’s lips are against his ear, and Dorian shivers. 

“Tell me,” he whispers. His throat is dry.

“If you imagine me in my room, spread out and waiting for you, wearing nothing except these sweet little things you like so much.” Bull wraps his soft pink panties around Dorian’s cock and strokes him slowly, base to tip. The lace dangles against Dorian’s balls, and scratches just enough that he doesn’t come right then. 

“I’m imagining,” he says weakly.

Bull grins. “You come in, and I’m on the bed. I’m ready, I’ve opened myself up for you, because I can’t wait for your cock. I’ve been waiting all day for you to come fuck me, Dorian. You come over to the bed, you pull my little pink panties down just enough to stick your cock in my ass. You can feel the lace and the silk on your balls. You grab my horns and you fuck me _hard_.”

Bull moves one of Dorian’s hands to his horn, and he grabs with the other as well, staring down at Bull’s face, at their cocks, his own wrapped in pink silk, Bull’s hard and leaking under him.

Bull keeps stroking him. “Imagine fucking me into the bed, pounding my ass while I’m still wearing these, fucking me until I scream your name. You fuck me until I come in my pretty panties, just for you. Then you flip me over and rub yourself off on me, and you come all over my stomach, all over my cock, all over my soft, silky--”

Dorian comes with a long, shaky moan, spilling over Bull’s hand and the fabric of the panties. Bull strokes him through it, whispering filthy praise and Dorian grabs at his shoulders, feels his muscles shifting as buries his face in Bull’s neck, breathing hard.

Bull lifts his chin and kisses him, deep and insistent, pressing Dorian against his chest. He shudders under Dorian when he comes, and Dorian wraps his arms around Bull’s neck as he works on opening his eyes.

“Maker,” Dorian whispers.

Bull laughs delightedly. “Just me, Vint.”

“Oh, shut up.” He forces his eyes open at last, and Bull’s grinning face is right in front of him, of course. “At least they have a washroom, I must look a fright.”

“No, no, no.” Bull’s arms tighten around him. “You look as good as you always do, and I’m not ready to let go of your ass yet.”

“You’re holding my waist,” Dorian points out.

“Part of riding the Bull, you have to let me hold you after.” His nose bumps against Dorian’s. His smile opens up his face and Dorian should leave before he kisses him again. “Also, snacks.”

He leans forward, still holding Dorian with one hand, and tugs the plate of chocolate cremes closer to them. He holds one up in front of Dorian. “You’ve gotta be hungry.”

Dorian scowls. “They’re so _sweet_ ,” he says, turning his face away.

“Yeah.” Bull pops the chocolate into his mouth. Dorian kisses him.

He doesn’t mean for it to feel as gentle as it does. He’s still breathing hard, still riding the wave of Bull’s voice, the feel of Bull coming apart under him, of-- of whatever this was. He doesn’t want to let go of it yet.

Bull responds eagerly, but lets Dorian keep the kiss soft. One hand cups Dorian’s cheek, and it feels like an anchor, stopping him from floating away.

Dorian breaks the kiss before it goes on too long, ducks his head so he doesn’t have to meet Bull’s eye. Wordlessly, Bull offers him another chocolate. Dorian takes it.

They sit silently. Dorian listens to the steady pulse of Bull’s heartbeat and watches the shadows the torches cast on the floor, flickering in the breeze off the water. Bull’s arm around his waist goes nowhere, and he’s glad of it. If Bull makes him move, then this will be over.

As soon as he thinks that, as soon as he desperately tries to _un_ -think it, because it’s too close to-- too close to wanting, Bull shifts in his seat.

He doesn’t let go of Dorian, but he stretches his neck and reaches for something on the bench. Dorian keeps himself still.

Bull presses the painties into Dorian’s hands.

Baffled, Dorian’s forced to look up at him for an answer. Bull’s smile is a little bashful.

“I was just thinking,” he says, and clears his throat. “I was thinking you should hold onto these. Like a token, I guess.”

Dorian’s speechless.

“You hold onto these, and think about how you want to fuck me next time. You tell me about it, maybe I tell you what I’m wearing. Maybe I show you. You like that idea?”

“I’m not sure why you think you need to ask.”

Bull grins. “I think about fucking you a lot,” he says, quick and blunt. “You keep these, and you think about that.”

Dorian slides a hand up Bull’s chest. “I’m thinking about it now,” he says.

“Shit, yeah. You should fuck me tonight, big guy, don’t think I forgot your promises. Tomorrow night too, if you want to see some of my other panties. In fact, I’ve got a whole collection at Skyhold that you should see.”

“Are you sure you have the time?”

“For you? My door’s always open,” Bull says. 

Dorian imagines it.

**Author's Note:**

> Reasons I wrote this:  
> 1) [Hot cocoa](http://acheesecakewrites.tumblr.com/post/156280449133/friendly-reminder-that-the-iron-bull-canonically)  
> 2) [Bull wears lingerie](http://acheesecakewrites.tumblr.com/post/156513586883/kikithepink-acheesecakewrites-plenoptic07)  
> 3) Whose silky underthings got left in whose room?


End file.
